We notice in Mr Longfellow an occasional fondness for what is _quaint_, as if Quarles' _Emblems_, or some such book, had been at one time a favourite with him. In the lines entitled "Suspiria," solemn as the subject is, the thought trembles on the verge of the ridiculous. But, leaving these poems, "By the Seaside," and "By the Fireside," we shall find a better instance of this tendency to a certain quaintness in another part of the volume before us. The "Old Clock on the Stairs" is a piece which invites a few critical observations. It is good enough to be quoted almost entirely, and yet affords an example of those faults of haste and negligence and incompleteness which even Mr Longfellow has not escaped. THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. "_L'éternité est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement dans le silence des tombeaux. 'Toujours! Jamais!--Jamais! Toujours!'_"--JACQUES BRIDAINE. "Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country-seat: Across its antique portico Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw; And from its station in the hall An ancient time-piece say to all-- 'For ever--never! Never--for ever!' Half-way up the stairs it stands, And points and beckons with its hands, From its case of massive oak, Like a monk who, under his cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs, 'Alas!' With sorrowful voice to all who pass-- 'For ever--never! Never--for ever!' By day its voice is low and light, But in the silent dead of night, Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, It echoes along the vacant hall, Along the ceiling, along the floor, And seems to say at each chamber door-- 'For ever--never! Never--for ever!' * * * * * In that mansion used to be Free-hearted Hospitality; His great fires up the chimney roared, The stranger feasted at his board; But, like the skeletons at the feast, That warning timepiece never ceased-- 'For ever--never! Never--for ever!' There groups of merry children played, There youths and maidens dreaming strayed: O precious hours! O golden prime, And affluence of love and time! Even as a miser counts his gold, Those hours, the ancient timepiece told-- 'For ever--never! Never--for ever!' * * * * * All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 'Ah, when shall they all meet again!' As in the days long since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply-- 'For ever--never! Never--for ever!'